


Bruised Hearts and Painted Skin

by mikimouze16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bruises, Child Abuse, Depression, Happy Ending, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikimouze16/pseuds/mikimouze16
Summary: "Where did you get those bruises?"How a single question led to Lupin, McGonagall, and Snape to saving a boy from his family and teaching him what it's like to live again.





	Bruised Hearts and Painted Skin

“Where did you get those bruises?”

He never heard anyone walk in. His mind was so far away that when the door creaked open and the footsteps came upon him, his wandering brain never registered them. His thoughts halted immediately. They stopped so suddenly that he could only blink and hope that he could form words.

His mind, working a mile a minute, was trying to find the best excuse. The answer that would end the conversation. He was looking for the response that would cut down the conversation before it started. Apparently, he was taking too long.

Thin cold fingers brushed over a purple splotch on his arm. Not use to the gentle touch, he flinched away from the touch. He pressed his body closer to the chilly window and prayed that he would leave. That no more questions would tumble out of his mouth. 

As always, he never got what he wished for.

“Harry,” The voice asked again, concern weaving into every syllable, “Who hurt you?”

His mind was demanding him to lie. Like every other time, he was asked about the bruises. The responses were filing into the forefront of his mind, each a common one he had used before. _ I fell. I tripped. I was roughhousing with my cousin. _

They filled his mind but his mouth wouldn’t work. His jaw was set and he couldn’t get the muscles to move. He couldn’t will the air to pass over his vocal cords and speak the lies. It was too hard. It was too much work. 

Instead, he pulled his legs closer to his chest. _ Protect vital organs. _ His instincts were warning him. There was a small part of his brain was telling him that this man wouldn’t hurt him. But he has been wrong before. So he tucked his chin into his chest and refused to look at him.

If he thought the man would leave because he was ignoring him, he was wrong. His teacher sat on the open space between the end of the windowsill and his feet. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the worn tan cardigan that his professor was fond of. He refused to look at the man’s face. 

Refused to look at the pity. 

“I can help you,” His teacher prodded, “You just need to be honest with me.”

_ No! _ His mind screamed at him. His breath quickened in pace. _ It’s a trick! _ He had heard that before from his primary school teacher. She had seemed so concerned. She would rub her smooth manicured fingers over his arms and take photos. A social worker had stopped at the house after that. He left, never speaking to Harry alone. He never saw the social worker or the teacher again. 

He wanted to trust this man. The one that had been friends with his parents. He just couldn’t. Trust was a fool's game. The further you kept people the less likely they’ll hurt you. The less they know about you, the less they can use against you. It’s why Ron and Hermoine only knew he was unhappy at home. It’s why he only had a handful of friends. Why he always wore long sleeves and never bared his scars. 

The teacher noticed the change in his breathing. He placed his hand on Harry’s leg, a comforting motion but it caused a panic in the boy. He jerked his legs to the side to escape the touch. He was rewarded narrowed eyes filled with concern, not that he was looking at them. 

A sad sigh filled the empty and unused classroom. The scarred teacher leaned back onto the glass that Harry was staring out. He filled more than the corner of his vision. Without directly looking at him he took in the details of the man. Worn clothes patched with different materials hung loosely off the man’s frame. He was thin, like Harry, his face hollow and skin stretched over his bones. Scars painted the pale skin, crisscrossing like a poorly executed painting. 

_ Maybe he had been abused too. _

Harry shook the thought from his mind. It was probably another trick. He was an adult and they couldn’t be trusted. They lied. They would look down on him like he was trash. Tricking him with questions he didn’t have answers for then smile at the chance to attack. 

To yell.

To hit.

He turned his head and watched the man in the reflection of the glass. He saw when he turned his gaze from the other side of the room to him. Watched as the man looked him over, eyes lingering painfully long on the exposed injuries on his arms. As his teacher’s eyes roamed over the pale skin Harry tried to pull himself into a tighter ball. When he could no longer shrink his body in on itself he moved to push his sleeves down. His skin felt on fire under the scrutiny of the man. 

His action of hiding his arms was stopped. His professor had grabbed his hand that had been hidden between his chest and legs. Finger’s traced over the poorly healed skin of a burn. He tried to yank it back but the grip tightened around his bony wrist stopping the motion. Panic started to bloom his chest and his breath quickened again. Hearing his labored breath, his defense teacher released his limb. It tucked back between his legs and chest, the other one hiding there too.

His hand was still hovering from when it dropped his own. He brought it oo his face and wipe over his scarred skin in contemplation. His long thin bony fingers stopped and rested on his mouth as he stared off. Harry could see the man thinking. He watched as hazel eyes bounced from one side of his eyelids to the other. Eyebrows drew together causing lines to form on his forehead. 

He just wanted the man to leave.

“Was it your relatives?” He turned to study him. Harry felt so small under the eyes. He felt like he was being cut open and exposed. 

He didn’t answer. If he didn’t say anything he could be accused of lying. His jaw tightened though, just to make sure his body wouldn’t betray him. Apparently, that was noticed and taken as an answer.

Another suffering sigh escaped his professor’s lips. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

Harry looked incredulously at the man. Why didn’t he tell anyone? Because telling meant no food. Because telling meant curled fists raining down on his spine. It meant hot skillets searing his flesh. It meant the heavy foot of his uncle connecting with his bruised and battered ribs.

Harry took back his previous thought, this man was never abused. 

The professor saw his look and grimaced. The expression contorted his face and caused him to shrink down in himself, “Ah, right.” He mumbled. 

Harry wanted to leave. He wanted to grab his tattered backpack that was dropped by the classroom’s door and dart into the halfway and run. He wanted to sprint through the castle until his lungs cried and his legs ached. He wanted to find a small dark corner and curl up and stay there. 

He knew as soon as he stood up and left he would be followed. If he ran, the man that _ wouldn’t leave him be _ would follow. It would be worse if he left so he stayed curled and prayed that he would leave and drop the issue. 

He felt eyes on him again. _ Ignore it, _ his mind demanded. 

“If you agree to do a scan with Madam Pomfrey, I won’t ask any more questions.”

“You won’t,” Harry finally spoke his voice dry and scratchy, “But she will.”

“I’m trying to help,” Professor Lupin countered.

“I don’t need it,” Harry hissed back. 

“This,” The man said grabbing his arm and shoving the sleeve up exposing bruises, cuts, and thin white scars, “Tells me differently.” 

Panic was once again beginning to rise, he tried to pull his arm back but unlike last time the grip didn’t give. He tugged again, pain rising from the wrongly healed wrist, but the fingers remained wrapped around his limb.

“Let go,” He tried to sound defiant but the panic was seeping into his words. Suddenly he felt something slid over his skin. A tingle. It raced down his arms to his fingers. A yelp was heard and his hand was dropped as his teacher rubbed the palm of his hand. He was watching the small currents of electricity bounce over pale skin.

_ No, _ the panic was no longer slowly streaming into his chest. No, it slammed full force against his lungs shoving the wind out of his body. _ CONTROL IT! _ His mind was screaming at him as he tried to rear his magic in. As the panic rose the control loosened and it acted on its own. 

He pushed his head between his knees and tried to focus on his breathing. He couldn’t focus. Between the panic of what his uncle would do when he found out and the shouts of his professor, his breath kept speeding up. He could hear stones exploding around the room. He could feel the electricity on his skin build. He felt it bounce off and slam into the surrounding area. 

It wasn’t the first time this has happened. His magic had tried to protect him before. It only caused more problems. It only enraged his uncle more. He had thrown his uncle off his feet with a bolt of electricity once before. He was beaten so badly that he didn’t wake until the weekend was over. The pain was so unbearable he had cried and wished for death to take him.

This was worse. The more he tried to reign his magic in, the more it rebelled. The window shattered next to him, shards of glass grazed his face and exposed skin. He heard the wood of the door splintering and littering the stones of the room. More voices were mixed in with Professor Lupin’s but he couldn’t distinguish between them. He pulled his body into a tighter ball, desperately trying to stop everything. The more he did the more power surged from his core. 

He could feel other magic mixing in with his own. Unlike his, their magic was concentrated, single spells with a purpose. His magic was swirling around, protecting him by keeping others away. By wreaking havoc. 

Stones burst outwards into the hall, he could feel it, he could feel his magic wrapping around everything and everybody. An entire wall crumbled as tears slid down his cheeks. Sobs were mixing into the sounds of the destroyed room and shouted spells. 

“Stop. Stop. Stop! STOP!” He shouted until his magic finally listened. Everything stilled. Items froze in mid-air. Spells had ceased movement, their colors just floating without a purpose. The teacher’s limbs had locked up cementing them in place. 

If he were to look up from his curled position he would see faces of astonishment mixed with panic. But he didn’t. He slid his eyes closed and let the black spots of his vision take over until he passed out and dropped to the floor, his skull cracking against a jagged piece of the ceiling. 

He woke to footsteps, heavy breathing and the clinking of glass. His eyelids didn’t open but he listened. There were two people, he decided based on the alternating breathing patterns. One was deep and slow, that person was asleep. Another was normal, a steady in and out. That person must be the one next to his side moving the objects. 

It took a lot of energy to open his eyelids. It took a lot of psyching up as well, it would have been easier to pretend to fall back asleep and deal with it later. He couldn’t do that. He had to know who was around him. Where he was. He had to be ready for an attack. 

The first thing he saw was a black robe moving. Two long arms were picking up vials turning them over before placing them back on the table next to him. Not making a sound he looked past the man who turned out to be his potions professor. In a chair by the wall, he could see his defense professor sleeping. His elbow was sitting on the arm and his head was resting on a fisted hand. 

“We wondered when you were going to wake,” a voice above him said. His eyes fluttered up to the face. He blinked and made no attempt to move his lips.

“You’ve been asleep for about a day now. We thought it would take days for you to get over the exhaustion.” Harry wasn’t sure who the ‘we’ was but he thought it would include Professor Lupin.

Snape sighed when he made no attempt to speak. He just eyed him, watching his hands, watching his face. Waiting, for when he would have to curl up and protect himself. Waiting for the pain to start again. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawled in his usual deep voice. 

_ Liar! _His mind spoke. They always hurt him, be it by words or hands. Lupin had hurt him by yanking on his wrist. Snape had done so by tearing him down and making him feel utterly useless. McGonagal had done so by dismissing him as an attention-seeking child. They may not try to, but they always hurt him. 

“I owe you an apology,” He spoke awkwardly to the boy. Harry’s neutral expression twisted into one of confusion at his words. “I suppose I was ill-informed and let petty grudges cloud what was in front of me. I apologize for the harassment I’ve bestowed upon you. I also apologize for humiliating you in my class.” 

Harry blinked, “Okay?” _ How were you supposed to respond to an apology? _

Snape stared back at him, “Have you never received an apology before?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Snape knew from his response that he didn’t. He knew from seeing other abused children throughout the stone halls that they never received one. That they were always the ones apologizing. The ones that would plead with those who wronged them. 

The small conversation had woken Lupin. His eyes blinked groggily at the boy lying motionless under blankets of the hospital wing. He stood up and reached for him, wanting to provide comfort but when the child jerked away from the touch he pulled his hand back with a pained expression. 

Getting over the rejection, Remus cleared throat, “You made quite a mess,” He told the boy with a half-smile. Severus paused and rounded on the man with a disbelieving look. Remus was confused at the look until he saw Harry’s face.

The boy’s face had blanched at the comment. He pulled his hands to the hem of the blanket and worried the fabric under his fingers. “I’m sorry,” He quavered.

“No,” Remus tried to backtrack, “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” 

“What did I do?” Harry inquired not believing his teacher. 

“Really,” Remus tried to avoid the question, “It’s not a big deal.” 

Severus watched the other professor struggle to smooth the worries of their student so he took over, “Your magic blew out the walls to three classrooms.”

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn’t me-”

“It has been taken care of. It didn’t take too long to fix. There is no reason to stress over it, though I know you will.” 

Snape then held out a yellow potion to the child, “ A calming draught. I fear some things we must discuss are quite distressing.”

“You want to ask about the bruises,” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes,” Severus sat next to the boy with parchment and quill, “I mainly deal with the abuse cases here in the school along with Madam Pomfrey.”

“I’m not abused,” Harry countered.

“Harry,” Remus spoke sounding pained, “You came in covered in bruises. You have scars and-”

Severus cut him off with wave off his hand. Once the Defense professor was quite, Snape asked Harry if he wanted the man to leave. Which he did. The boy kept his eyes downcast when the man said he would be in the other room if he needed anything. 

Snape pointed to a thin white line that started on the underside of his left wrist and worked it way up to the outer corner of his elbow, “Tell me about this one.” 

The teacher watched as the boy’s jaw moved, his teeth grinding together. After a minute of silent, he tried again, “There are privacy wards up. No one but me is going to hear you.”

Harry spat, “I don’t need help.” 

“How about you tell me about some of your scars, _ truthfully, _ and I will decide that for myself.” 

More jaw-grinding before a defeated sigh told Snape what the answer was. 

“There was a nail sticking out of the frame of the cupboard, I caught it when my uncle dragged me out,” Harry admitted.

“Why were you in a cupboard?” Severus asked while writing down the first response. 

“It was my room.”

“Was?” Snape asked with raised eyebrows.

“When I got my Hogwarts letter they moved me to Dudley’s second bedroom.”

Scratching of the quill filled the silence, “Tell me about getting your letter.”

Once the boy started explaining the letter, it leads to another story. He would explain one story then bounce to another for background information for the first one. When that story seemed to end his teacher would ask for an explanation for another. Which would lead to a story to other stories before finishing the first one. 

The parchment just kept growing as he spoke. He found the scratching to be soothing after the third tale. It didn’t take much to keep him speaking. Now that he could finally say his peace, it seemed to pout out of him.

It came with a side effect though. He felt weak. His fingers trembled. It then grew into his hands before racing along his arms. His shoulders started to shake as silent tears leaked out the corners of his eyes. He felt raw. As if he was soul was ripped out of his chest and stretched thin and laid bare in front of the entire school. 

He didn’t realize he stopped speaking until another vial was moving in front of his eyes. Professor Snape was jerking the potion in front of him trying to draw his attention elsewhere. Harry swallowed thickly before a shaking hand reached up and grabbed the vial. He held it in his grasp, the purple potion had silver swirls dancing in the vial. He didn’t drink it.

“It’s a Dreamless Sleep.” Snape spoke watching the child, “Go ahead. I think I have enough information.” 

Holding it for a minute more, he then decided to throw it back. It coated his tongue with the flavor of berries as his eyes shut on their own. As he drifted off, he could hear murmurs of various voices and the crinkle of parchment being passed around. 

He woke up later when the sun broke through the curtains of the Hospital wing. As he slowly blinked against the rays, he felt a thumb rub back and forth on his hand between his thumb and fingers. He wanted to enjoy the feeling but he never could quite rewire his brain to accept touches as a positive thing. 

The person must have noticed his struggle to wakefulness. The gentle touch stopped. “Harry?” 

He knew that voice. It was a familiar one. One that often spoke in stern tones mixed with proud praises. 

“Harry?” She tried a little louder this time. He finally pushed past the remaining sleep to open his eyes. Looking down at him was Professor McGonagall. Her hair wasn’t in a tight bun but loosely fell to her shoulders. Her glasses weren’t on the tip of her nose but pushed closely to her cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed red and her nose was tinged pink. 

She had been crying.

There was tight feeling in his chest after that realization. Grimacing, he rubbed over his heart with the palm of his hand hoping for the feeling to go away. When he couldn’t rub away the ache, he pulled himself into a sitting position and hoped it would fade. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked with a sniffle. 

_ Empty. Raw. Drained. Dead. _ His mind filled in for him. His mouth, on the other hand, stayed still. He blinked at her. Was he really suppose to answer? Was she expecting him to open his mouth and confess that now someone new that it would be all better? What did she want from him? 

He settled with telling her with a cold dead voice that he was fine. 

He said even though he wanted to tell her that he felt like a shell just existing. That he was numb and couldn’t feel. That he was tired all the time. That he found no joy in anything. He wanted to confess that he didn’t want to live if this what living was like.

Is this what life is? Is it just his body mechanically moving on its own? If this was life, he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue it. 

“Fine?” She laughed. It was bitter and desperate. It made his ears ring and his jaw clench. “Fine? You think what’s going on is fine?” 

After she quieted down and received a few emotionless blinks, she stood up and walked away from his bed. She found who she was looking for after drawing the curtains opened. Motioning with a finger, he could hear the footfalls of several people coming to him. 

The first person to come through the curtain was Madam Pomfrey. She wore a tight smile. It was too thin and made Harry feel uncomfortable. Behind her, Snape wore a blank expression and was holding a bottle with a white cap. 

He didn’t participate in the conversation, but he was sure they knew he wouldn’t. They spoke about how they were bringing in a therapist for him to speak to. How he was depressed and he would take medicine every morning with his breakfast. They spoke about how they were put him on a strict meal plan. Minerva expressed how she wanted him to participate in physical therapy. Snape would be using potions to lighten and try to erase some of his scars. He took all the news silently and only nodding is head when asked if he understood.

He took the bottle from Snape and downed the little blue pill like he was told. 

It took several weeks before he started to feel anything again. It was during a therapy session with the mind healer. Suddenly he felt so sad, a feeling that he had stomped away long ago. When the therapist had noticed his struggle, she expressed that he needed to feel it. He needed to express his emotions so he could move forward and grow. She told him that sadness was not a weakness. He ended up bawling over anything and everything. He ended up crying himself to sleep. 

After that session, he admitted he did feel lighter. He wished he could have gained a happier emotion first but overall he was glad that he was able to feel anything at this point. Anything, he concluded, was better than the cold void that he had been living with. 

He was with McGonagal and Snape when his anger appeared. They were explaining that he had to give testimony at a trial against his relatives. His anger slammed into his chest so hard he cough against the pain. It then turned into him screaming and tear at his hair about how he never wanted to see them. Why couldn’t his word be good enough? That then turned into screaming about how he didn’t do anything to deserve the pain they cascaded upon him.

The teachers let him rant and yell. They pulled his blunt nails away from his hair and face and just let him scream it out. He needed to do this. He needed to express his emotions and come to terms with what happened. If that meant making two peoples ears ring from high pitched wailing and curse words, so be it. 

It was after the trial, that he found enjoyment in something again. He was sitting in Lupin’s room practicing spells from the random books around the classroom when he conjured butterflies that glowed a soft purple light. They danced from his wand and circled around him tracing along his cheeks and kissing his eyelids. For the first time in what felt like years, a giggle burst from his chest and joined the insects in their flight. He was so focused on his successful spell that he didn’t notice his professor stop and watch with a relieved smile. 

By the end of the year, with the help of his medicine, diet, and therapy, he felt like a brand new person. He had shot up about five inches. He gained weight and no longer looked like a skeleton. His grades had improved when his motivation returned. 

Apparently, Fred and Geroge had noticed that a deadman was appearing on their map and brought it to the attention of their Head of House. Swiftly caught, Peter was arrested and tried. Sirius Black was no in the Janus Thicky ward under some extreme therapy. Harry had gone with Professor Lupin to visit him on Easter Holidays. The man cried at seeing the two people in his doorway. 

Sirius was sad that he couldn’t take over guardianship of Harry but was quite pleased with his placement after meeting Daniel and Jane Granger. After receiving a letter from their daughter they inquired about helping him. They took several classes to help prepare them with raising an abused child. After several courses, meeting with therapists, and plans for Harry’s summer they were easily given guardianship much to Dumbledore’s displeasure. 

On the train, Harry was excited for the summer for the first time in forever. Snape and McGonagall both promised to visit and help him with his summer studies alongside seeing how he was faring. Ron would be visiting at the end of June for a weekend with Ginny. The Grangers had plans to take him to France and meet some extended family. 

Popping his pill for the morning, he dropped the bottle into his trunk and turned back to the conversation he was having Neville. Both boys were expressing their happiness with Professor Lupin returning. It was a pleasant sound hearing the laughter spill into the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look at this one-shot that was like 10 pages long and I have been working on for the past month. I am quite proud of it.


End file.
